


Chysanthemums

by roswyrm



Series: you could build a garden [3]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cute Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: Chrysanthemum- support from a loved one; devotion





	Chysanthemums

**Author's Note:**

> GOOD ENDING. FINALLY. I SUFFERED SO MUCH WRITING THIS. F U C K. i used way too many em dashes and even _more_ too many italics but tbh god is dead anyway lets fukcin Live It Up, babey! Working Title: _ow— but less ow? ideally?_

It’s not that Zolf’s at rock bottom and he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. It’s that Zolf hit rock bottom a week ago, and when he asked for help, the universe handed him a pickaxe. It’s that _Hamid’s_ the one seeing him like this.

(Zolf told him to fuck off, what, yesterday morning? And here he is again, giving Zolf a hug and telling him that things are going to be okay. It makes his heart ache. It makes his chest constrict, and he doesn’t know if it’s the flowers or the guilt.)

Hamid talks. He’s trying to calm Zolf down, or maybe talk him through this weird fit he’s having. The comforting nonsense is half drowned out by his own hiccuping sobs, but there’s not really a lot Zolf can do about that. Maybe there is. He’s far too exhausted to try. “I’m here, okay?” Hamid murmurs next to his ear, “As long as you need me, I’m here.”

Zolf coughs. And at first, he thinks it’s just irritation from the crying, but then the petals start choking him. “Off,” he manages. His voice hitches uncomfortably over the word, and his throat hurts. Zolf forces out, “Get off!” and Hamid pulls back instantly, face pinched with worry. 

He shifts so that they aren’t touching at all, and that’s not what Zolf wanted. He should have been more specific. Maybe when he’s not asphyxiating. “I’m sorry, do you need me to—” Zolf coughs harder, hand coming up to catch the flowers before Hamid can see them. “Are you okay?”

Zolf nods as the petals spill out of his mouth and into his palm. Hamid’s face shifts from worry-about-boundaries to worry-about-wellbeing and leans back in. “Fine,” Zolf rasps. He doesn’t sound fine. He crushes the flowers in his fist and ignores the warm, wet blood that seeps through his fingers. Zolf honestly doesn’t know if it’s better or worse than having someone else’s blood coating his hands. 

Hamid frowns. “Zolf,” he chides gently. Right, Hamid doesn’t like it when people lie to him. As tears continue rolling down Zolf’s face, Hamid holds his arms out. Asking if Zolf needs comfort without making him answer directly. It’s so godsdamn considerate. Zolf coughs. _“Zolf,”_ Hamid repeats, except with more urgency, “are you okay?”

And. _Is he okay?_ It has such an obvious answer that Zolf laughs. Or maybe he cries harder; he genuinely can’t tell. “No,” he says. It’s honest. Hamid doesn’t like it when he’s lied to. “No, I’m not okay. I’ve agreed to a deal with a God that I didn’t understand, my legs are made of fucking water, I’ve ruined the world,” he pauses, straining to get his voice back under control, “and there’s a godsdamn garden in my lungs that I can’t seem to get rid of.” He leans into Hamid. Face pressed into his shirt, Zolf asks, “How the hell could I be okay?”

Hamid is frozen against him.

“You have Hanahaki,” he says softly. Like he can’t quite comprehend it. And Zolf would laugh if he weren’t sure it would just make this fit last even longer. Hamid didn’t know, because Zolf had been so careful to hide it, and now he’s gone and flat out told him.

(What’s the worst that happens? Hamid storms away in disgust and leaves Zolf alone? Oh no, being left to cope with his bullshit alone, that’s not something Zolf’s ever had to deal with before.)

Hamid brings an arm up around Zolf, almost like it’s second nature. And then, in shocked outrage, he asks, “You’re sick with- with a _deadly disease,_ and you didn’t tell anyone?”

Zolf defends, “It’s unprofessional, or too personal, or something. I didn’t think you’d care that much.” Hamid’s other arm comes up, and he holds Zolf so _tightly_ it nearly hurts. 

Hamid starts to shake. His fingernails dig into Zolf, and it stings, but Zolf’s not going to say anything to stop it. It doesn’t hurt that bad, and at least the little crescent-moons in his shoulders means that Hamid is still there. (Gods, Zolf didn't realise he was so pathetic until that sentence.) Hamid inhales, exhales, grounding himself in the same way Zolf’s noticed him do just before he casts something. In a tightly controlled voice, Hamid questions, “Zolf, how could I not care? You’re my friend, and my boss, and you’ve saved my life more than a few times, and- and you’re _important_ to me!” His voice breaks a little on that last bit, and Zolf really isn’t equipped for this.

“I—” he starts, but apparently Hamid isn’t done lecturing him.

“I would have _helped_ if I knew! I would have— I don’t know, helped you get a date with her! Or, worst case scenario, I would have paid for the surgery to get the roots removed! I don’t _give a damn_ if it’s unprofessional, your wellbeing is more important than- than—” Hamid sputters for a moment before settling on— “than _professional courtesy!”_ And then Hamid starts shaking, because now _he’s_ crying.

Zolf is unprepared for this in so many different ways it’s almost funny. No one laughs. “Hey,” he tries, “no, it’s okay. I’m fine, Hamid. It’s fine.”

(The flowers that attempt to claw their way up from his lungs at that exact moment are not helping his case.)

Hamid sniffles and insists, “It’s not! You’re _not!”_ and the blatant proof of Hamid _caring_ tips him over the edge and he starts coughing again. “Who is it?” Hamid demands. “We’re going and telling her!”

Zolf spits the last couple of petals out of his mouth before he really registers what Hamid’s suggested. “Not a her,” he mutters.

“Him, then! Or them, whatever! But you need to _tell them_ that you’re in love with them!”

“Fine! _I’m in love with you!_ Happy?”

Hamid doesn’t say anything to that. He just blinks, dumbfounded. Zolf keeps going, keeps being angry because as long as he gets the words out with enough wrath behind them, he doesn’t have to think about what they mean. “Since Kew, apparently! At least, that’s when the flowers started! And I’ve been fucking _miserable_ about it the entire time!”

Hamid keeps staring, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. And Zolf knows that the entire history of his stupid crush isn’t something he should be sharing, but he’s drained and still somewhere in the middle of a breakdown, so he doesn’t exactly care enough to stop himself from continuing. 

“I keep trying to make up excuses to get close to you, even though I know that’ll just kill me quicker! And I was just going to ignore it until I choked to death because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. But you’re so- you’re so _kind!_ You never even let that be an option because you always needed to be right next to me; you needed to make sure I was okay!”

(The words are so soft and vulnerable, but if Zolf makes his tone sound like an insult he won’t have to think about that.)

He keeps going, pushes through the soreness of his throat and the pressure in his chest, “And knowing you care just makes everything _worse_ because—”

His voice breaks. And he’s back to crying, even though he doesn’t want to be. He coughs up more flowers, and he actually stops breathing for a second, which is absolutely mortifying. The bloody petals lay glistening on the bedsheets, and Zolf feels bad. That’s probably going to stain. 

In a voice that sounds dejected and defeated and nowhere near his own, Zolf finishes, “...because I know you don’t care how I want you to.” Hamid doesn’t say anything. Zolf doesn’t expect him to. Hell, if Hamid just got up and left, Zolf wouldn’t blame him. Everything’s ruined, he probably won’t ever want to see Zolf again. He’s probably got something to fall back on, right? He could probably just go back to his apartment in London and forget all about ever joining Zolf’s stupid group. Maybe Zolf’ll use the money Sasha gave him. He can just get all of the feelings cut out, and it’ll be easier for everyone involved.

Hamid doesn’t move from where he is, which is a little surprising. Zolf can’t look up at his face, doesn’t want to see Hamid try and work through the revelation. He reaches out, but doesn’t actually touch Zolf. “Can you look at me?” Zolf doesn’t, tears blurring the grey sheets and the red blood and the darker red flowers. Interesting sheets, these. Far more interesting than whatever Hamid’s face is doing. “Zolf,” whispers Hamid, and he sounds so _worried._

Zolf looks up, despite his better ideas, and Hamid smiles at him gently. 

(That isn’t how this is supposed to go. Hamid’s supposed to explain that he doesn’t see Zolf like that, and then Hamid’s supposed to leave and never come back. The whole apology should be tinged with disgust and discomfort. The smile on Hamid’s face shouldn’t have any of the emotions it does right now. But then Zolf remembers that Hamid is a good actor. Hamid doesn’t like it when people lie to him, but he’s perfectly fine with lying to everyone else.)

The embarrassed smile stays where it is, and Hamid says, “I’ve loved you for a while.”

(That—)  
(No.)  
(No, that can’t be—)  
(Since when?)

“Since when?” asks Zolf, and he’s so stunned that the flowers forget to bloom.

Hamid laughs, still teary-eyed. “I realised when we were on the channel, but I think it’s been longer. I—” he takes Zolf’s hand in his— “was so defensive of you in Dover. Remember? I didn’t even realise it was because I’d fallen head over heels for you.” He’s still smiling at Zolf, but that isn’t right. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. 

(Hamid doesn’t—)  
(Hamid can’t—)  
(Hamid is still holding his hand.)

(There aren’t any flowers.)

(The flowers are because of unrequited love, so if there aren’t any flowers then—)

“Huh.” It’s the only thing that Zolf can manage to say. There aren’t any vines moving in his chest; there aren’t any petals forcing their way out of his throat. Hamid’s smile only grows, and he looks overjoyed and relieved and astonished in equal measure. “I- I feel like I should probably kiss you, but my mouth is full of blood and flower petals, and that’s honestly less _romantic_ and more _gross.”_

Hamid laughs at that, and a few leftover tears trail down his face as he presses a kiss to Zolf’s cheek. 

And Zolf doesn’t cough.

Because Hamid loves him back.

(Zolf isn’t cured, or anything. There are still petals in his lungs that are going to get coughed up intermittently, and it’s going to take a lot of Cure Light Wounds to get his throat back to normal, and he’s probably going to need more bedrest than he’s likely to get, but.)

_(Hamid loves him.)_

**Author's Note:**

> send, me,,, Prompts,,,, i am a hungry man. i want to be a Prolific Bastard but i also want to be a Prompt Driven Lad so like. im on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer come hit me up!! also: HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!!!!!


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